I took the stars from my eyes and I made a map

I just can't get myself together enough to write something very inspired. I'm hanging around in my room in bare feet, wearing tights from a gal my friend was fucking for a while, and a loose strappy green top, an exact copy of a shirt I bought my mom in purple. I must be in the phase of certain female friendship networks where I have been given a lot of clothing over the last week by various female people I know: my favorite of these being a rather risque razor-backed floor-length dress I got from Ali, almost the exact shade of muddy gray that my eyes are. I think my eyes are getting darker as I get older. I put on my string lantern lights and my salt rock lamp that I bought because of how I am garbage. The moon is in Aries, for whatever it's worth.

This week, I have been pretty acutely aware that I'm not in a good headspace, that I am not doing well. This is the time of year I don't do well, and it feels like death has kept looking out at me from under all the rocks. It has the usual tells: I'm doing that thing where I read into everything and turn it into a big dumb narrative. I get vulnerable, then later disgusted with my emotion, and feel (rationally or not) that I've embarrassed myself and been rejected by those I reached out to. I know I'm doing it, at least; that it's not actually real. I wish I could pass a little card to everyone I care about and explain "please just be nice to me, and make me feel valuable, I know I'm not being that good," but it's hard to be a coherent, self-aware adult and ask for something like that. Most often, you've just got to scrap by on what you've got, be productive, and it'll be what it is. Maybe the people in your life will have the grace to give you a pass if it starts wearing on you and you act out.

So I did a lot of running, and a lot of house work: dishes, laundry, clearing out this excess of crap I seem to can't donate enough of. I want to go night hiking; I keep dreaming of it, the only good dream for days and days.